


Reunion

by RosiePaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 17:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: You never know what might happen when you meet someone again.





	Reunion

John discreetly checked his watch.  Five more minutes, he promised himself.  Five more minutes and he’d stop looking for a conversational break into which he could insert his farewells.  Five more minutes and he’d just walk out.

When he’d first got the invite to his university class reunion, he’d tried to talk to Sherlock into coming with him.  He had fond memories of certain classmates whom he thought Sherlock might enjoy meeting.  There was, for example, the girl who’d been his lab partner in first-year chemistry, the one who’d repeatedly flummoxed the professor with her perceptive questions.  They’d almost blown up the lab together one time when she threw a few improvisations into a routine – and extremely boring – laboratory exercise.

Then there was the lanky bloke from the rugby team.  He’d had completely the wrong build for rugby, but he’d been a valued team mate because he was a brilliant strategist and could run damn fast, plus he had a wicked sense of humour that had enlivened many a post-match pub meet.

Neither the chemistry girl nor the lanky rugby bloke had shown up.  Instead John found himself trapped by several middle-aged men, all of them worse for wear after a few drinks, who claimed not only to have been on the rugby team but also to have been John’s best mates.  John did his best to see past the effects of accumulated weight gain and receding hairlines, but he recognized none of these men.  He was torn between being grateful that Sherlock had refused to come with him and the thought that at least Sherlock’s deductions would have made the evening more interesting.

Sherlock would have known who was cheating on his spouse, who was being cheated on, who had lost his job but not yet told his spouse and who was wearing frilly pink pants under his cheap suit.  More to the point, Sherlock would have said so out loud.  There would have been a brawl, John could have punched a few of the fools and then he and Sherlock could have made a run for it together.  That thought was sounding more attractive by the minute.

“Eh, Johnny, remember the night before you left for the army?”

“No,” replied John truthfully, “I remember the hangover I reported for duty with.”

The others thought this was hilarious.  Nigel – John was pretty sure his name was Nigel – continued.  “Yeah, with all the rounds we brought for you, you were pretty damned drunk!  ‘M not surprised you don’t remember.”

“It’s too bad, that’s what it is,” opined another one.  George?  “’Cause it means you don’t remember the posh junky.”

Judging from the hoots of laughter, several people remembered the “posh junky” all too well.

“Oh, man, the posh junky!” Nigel took control of conversation again.  “We were in the…  Where were we by then, mates?”

Three different people suggested three different pubs.

“We were in this pub and Johnny here manages to drag himself up to a standing position for a trip to the bogs, and this bloke comes weaving along.  High as a kite, anyone could see it.  He comes weaving along and walks right into our Johnny, whom as we all know has just a wee bit of a temper” – more hooting – “so he tells the junky to watch where the fuck he’s going.  And the junky says…”

Here Nigel drew himself up, as if trying to imitate someone taller.  Drew himself up and intoned, in a lower voice than his natural one and in a horribly poor imitation of Received Pronunciation, “Just finished your degree – medicine – enlisted in the army, reporting for duty tomorrow, hangover and all.  The only way you’d have been able to pay for your education, as all you got from your family were anger issues and a propensity for alcohol.  Oh, and homophobia.  Shame about that, given your own orientation.”

Chills had started running down John’s spine at the first words.  By the time Nigel was finished, they’d pooled into a pit of cold low in his belly.

“And then _Johnny_ says” – Nigel had returned to his normal voice now – “’Piss off!’  And he throws up all over the junky’s shoes!”

By now several of the men were laughing so hard they had to hold on to each other’s shoulders.

John made a show of looking at his watch, openly this time.  “It’s been an interesting evening, but I have to go now.”

“So soon?” whined George, “Thought we might get out of here and hit a few pubs, for old times’ sake like.”

Nods of agreement all around.

“Sorry, but I’ve got someone waiting for me at home.”

Nigel grimaced.  “Old ball and chain, eh, Johnny?  Keep in touch, then.”

John made his retreat.

The cab ride home had never seemed so long.

***

Sherlock was at his microscope when John burst into the flat, having practically run up the seventeen steps.  He didn’t look up, but emitted a noncommittal hum that might have been a greeting.

Because this was Sherlock, John skipped preliminary explanations.  “Did you recognize me?”

Sherlock did look up from the microscope then.

“The day Mike introduced us, did you recognize me?”

“Yes.  I was, I admit, surprised.  Given the nature of the incident, I would have thought I’d deleted your face.  It had somehow… stuck with me.”

“Yet despite that, you invited me to look at a flat with you.”

“I realized that _you_ didn’t recognize _me_.  I rattled off a stream of deductions to assist your memory and left.  I didn’t expect you to see you again.”

John grimaced.  “And like a bad penny, I turned up again.”

“Indeed, you turned up again.  You liked the flat, you seemed to want to _stay_.  I was… unsure as to how to proceed, so I dragged you off to a crime scene.”

“I hardly needed to be _dragged_ ,” John protested.

“No, you didn’t.  You asked about my deductions and then said they were amazing.  I kept trying to remind you, I quoted your exact words back at you and you kept on _not remembering_.  So I abandoned you at the crime scene to work it out on your own and instead you came back _again_.”

It sounded almost like an accusation, but John knew his Sherlock well.  He took a deep breath.  “Sherlock, until the day you tell me to go away and stay away, I will always come back to you.  And what I said that night… I know this doesn’t excuse it, but I was really, really drunk.”

“ _In vino veritas_?”

“Not always, love.  Not that night.  But when I said you were amazing, _that_ was true.  Still is.”

Sherlock glanced down at his microscope slides, shrugged, stood up.  “I take it that the university reunion didn’t turn out as you’d hoped.  Put the kettle on, I’ll play for you awhile.”

He started to walk past John, paused, and then turned and embraced him, tall and warm and indeed, quite amazing.

“John?” Sherlock murmured into the top of John’s head.

“Mmm?”

“I was really, really high that night.”

John chuckled softly.  “And yet here we are, love.  Here we are.”


End file.
